


Believe

by liamthebastard



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drabble, I'm pretending the Fall never happened, M/M, or was so long ago it isn't an issue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-01-30
Packaged: 2017-11-27 12:24:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/661975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liamthebastard/pseuds/liamthebastard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>It’s strange, how the universe works.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Believe

**Author's Note:**

> In honor of what John's blog says is the anniversary of their meeting, have a lovely little drabble. Seriously, this is so ridiculously fluffy you might die. Also, never written first person for Sherlock, so it'll probably be WAAAAYYY out of character.

“It’s strange, how the universe works. If one little thing had been different –if I had brushed Mike off, if he had decided to leave just as I arrived, if I had walked a little slower- I would never have met you,” John comments, tracing fingers gently over my breastbone as we lie together. 

“Would that really have been so terrible?” I ask, staring at the ceiling of our room. There are days I wonder, question to myself whether dragging John along with me into this life of intrigue and pain was worth it. 

John sits up, one hand braced against my chest. His face is fierce; eyes lit stormy blue in a way he knows I love. When it isn’t aimed at me. I fight the urge to shrink back; instead I hold my ground and wait for him to answer. 

“Yes. God, yes. It would be horrible,” John whispers vehemently, and I have no way of arguing with him though I still doubt. How could someone as unequivocally good as John Hamish Watson possibly be better off with the damaged goods that is Sherlock Holmes? John sense my doubt –of course he does, he always does, that’s why I love him, he sees through my bravado- and sets about squelching it. 

“You,” he begins, pressing a kiss to my forehead, “are the best,” a kiss on my left temple, “most dazzling,” another on the right temple, “beautiful,” a kiss on the soft skin beneath my jawline, “man I have ever,” a kiss pressed over my heart, “met.” He comes up and kisses my lips gently, pulling back before I have the chance to reciprocate. He knows how I hate that, hate having him give to me without allowing me to give to him. But sometimes, sometimes he does it, just because he claims he enjoys giving me something without getting anything in return. I think it’s absurd, until I remember that there are moments I want to give him everything without receiving a thing from him, to just show him he is loved. 

“I’d be lost without you, Sherlock Holmes, and don’t you ever doubt it,” John murmurs, leaning down to kiss me again, properly this time. 

It truly is mindboggling that there is someone in the world that I never tire of, that I always receive and explore with as much wonderment and joy as the first time. He is the only thing in my world that will never be boring. There are so many things he is –doctor, soldier, friend, lover- but they all boil down into that single syllable. John, _my_ John. 

As we kiss, gently and slowly, I slip my hand into my pocket and withdraw the tiny box I’ve been keeping there. It’s pure luck that it didn’t fall out as we slept, that it stayed firmly in my pocket until morning, and I’m glad that luck for once is on my side. I pull away first this time, sitting up and pulling John with me until we lean against the headboard together. 

He looks at me, eyes gentle now, slightly dazed with pupils dilated more than normal for the early morning light. He hasn’t noticed the box, not yet, but he will in a moment and when he does- there it is. A small intake of breathe with a widening of the eyes as he looks at me in a mixture of joy and love. Not a trace of uncertainty, not with my John. He is the one person who never doubts me.

I take his hand in mine, flicking the box open with my other hand. Inside is a pair plain silver rings, gleaming softly.

“Could be dangerous,” I say gently, a small smile already spreading across my face. I can see his response as clear as day, but I still want to hear him say it.

“When has that ever stopped us,” John replies gruffly, putting on his soldier voice to mask his emotion. He does that so rarely, tries to hide his feelings, and only when they’re too strong for him to express properly. 

“We’ve seen a lot together,” I comment. Suddenly I want to do this right. I leap from bed, pulling John until he follows me so I can kneel. I display the box, feeling a little foolish at first, but when I see John’s face I know I’m doing it right. “Want to see some more?” 

“Oh, God, yes,” John replies in a voice rough with emotion. I beam and slide one ring onto the third finger of his left hand before sliding its mate onto mine. John tugs me up, wraps me in a crushing hug before kissing me soundly. 

I’ve never believed in God or fate. But I’ll tell you one thing. 

I believe in John Watson.


End file.
